The Abyssal Cells were just as Edward Vistro remembered from his past lives – a wet, depressing place of total darkness. The walls were lined with Null-Stone, a rare mineral from deep in Aethelgard that sucked up mana. For a normal mage, it was a tomb. For the Edward of his first life, it was where he mentally broke down.
But that guy was long gone.
It had been two hours since Edward had walked into the confinement alone. He had dismissed the guards at the threshold with a look of such chilling indifference that they practically scrambled to lock him in. He had always walked into his cages alone after that first, shameful life. He had made a promise to himself that no matter how many times the world reset, no matter how many times he felt the Demon Lord's blade pierce his heart, he would never again be the cowardice, shameful man who begged for a mercy that never came. His arrogance was the only thing that survived the transition between timelines; it was the anchor that kept him sane across a thousand deaths.
Edward now stood by the small window, the only light source. He wasn't looking at the view, he was looking through time. He knew this world better than the people who built it.
In eight months, the Luminaris Kingdom would be in chaos. The King, a decent but sickly man, would die suddenly. In some timelines, Edward had been the savior, using healing to save the King, stopping the civil war and keeping the peace. But he was tired of saving a kingdom that would eventually fall in the Great Demon War.
This time, just like his more recent regressions, he would let the King die. The civil war wasn't a tragedy to stop; it was a chance to rebuild. It was the only way to tear down the old, corrupt foundations of the seven kingdoms and rebuild them into one powerful weapon. But even a super strong guy understood how to rule. You can't be a king of millions with just strength. Without money, food, and people to manage things, a king is just a strong bandit.
"The Marquis title," Edward whispered, his voice rough but sure. "I'll take it from Father this month. It's the only way to get the resources for the overthrow."
But first, he had to deal with his body.
Right now, at fifteen, Edward was mana-less. In his first life, he died without ever feeling the world's energy. Damian made sure of that, ruining every chance for Edward to go through the Awakening Ritual.
In the Luminaris Kingdom, and indeed across the six other human nations, the Awakening was a strict ceremony. It needed a Mana Catalyst Stone and a group of priests or mages who would chant for hours to stimulate the dormant mana channels within a child. It was rough, like forcing water through a rusty pipe. It didn't always work, and the quality of the Mana Core that formed depended on the stones and the child's family.
Edward chuckled. The human way was a joke, used by people who didn't get how the world truly worked. It made weak cores that didn't improve much.
He didn't need a priest or a stone. He had something better.
In his more recent lives, Edward had spent years in Elfheim. The Elves were humanity's main allies in the Great Demon War, but their betrayal – when they retreated into their Great Tree and let the human kingdoms burn – made Edward want revenge.
In his more recent regressions, he didn't spare the elves. He would conquered them, as he sailed north to enslave the Elven High Council. He turned Elfheim into his vassal and demanded their most secret arts. He didn't just learn them; he made them better, finding the truth beneath the Elven arrogance.
The Elven way of awakening was called the Eleven Paths of the Verdant Heart. Instead of forcing a core like a scar, it treated the body like a garden. You had to open eleven spots in a certain order that matched the flow of nature.
This was usually deadly for humans. Human mana channels were smaller than the Elves'. Trying the Eleven Paths would break a human's internal meridian, causing them to explode.
But Edward had spent three lifetimes improving it. He made the Human-Elf Blend. By using his willpower and changing the order to account for human bones and blood, he made a way that didn't just awaken the mana channels– it made the body better for it. It turned the human vessel from a rusty pipe into something amazing.
Edward sat on the cold floor. He closed his eyes and started breathing in a strange pattern – long, shallow breaths followed by quick exhales.
The first path: The Root.
He imagined his tailbone. A spark of light flickered. He didn't force it. He invited it. The Null-Stone tried to suck away the energy, but Edward was even more focused.
The second path: The Flow.
The third... the fourth... the fifth.
By the time he reached the seventh path, his skin glowed blue. Sweat poured off him, but it evaporated. The pain was awful – like his mana channels were being ripped open – but Edward stayed calm. He had been torn apart by demons; he had been burned by hellfire. This pain was nothing.
The tenth path: The Crown.
The cell shook. The air swirled around Edward, creating a cyclone. The mana that the Null-Stones had collected for centuries was being pulled into Edward's body.
The eleventh path: The Core.
"Now!" Edward hissed.
He brought the eleven paths together. All the energy he had gathered was slammed into his chest.
Crack!
The sound wasn't physical. Deep inside Edward's chest, a tiny sphere started to spin. It was a Mana Core, but it wasn't grey-red like a normal human core. It was white, spinning with amazing speed.
The first drop of mana crystallized. It was pure power, refined by a thousand lives.
Edward opened his eyes. The cell was no longer dark. He could see the heat of the rats in the walls. He raised a hand, and a ring of light formed around his heart.
The First Circle.
He had awakened. Not as a beginner, but as a master. His core was already stronger than Damian's, and he had only been in the cell for three hours.
"Twenty-nine days and twenty-one hours left," Edward said, looking at the door. He could feel the guards panicking outside.
He didn't care. He closed his eyes, ready to start the Second Circle. By the time he left, the Marquis wouldn't be facing a defiant son. He would be facing the end of his rule.
Edward Vistro wasn't a failure anymore. He was the creator of the coming chaos, and he was finally ready to play the game for the last time.